


Languor

by brokibrodinson



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bottom!Haytham, Canon-Typical Violence, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Subspace, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3362021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson/pseuds/brokibrodinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haytham isn't as young as he used to be. Connor helps him unwind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Languor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scaresandcrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaresandcrows/gifts).



> A somewhat belated Valentine's Day fic for my girlfriend Victoria.  
> Here's that bottom!Haytham fic you requested like a year ago!  
> Happy Valentine's Day <3

There was a good reason Haytham very rarely took risks, especially as he entered the autumn years of his life.

On the off chance he did fail to escape a situation unscathed, he could be out of commission for days – even over a week, if the physicians had their way – and given his importance to the Order (especially now that his Rite was a skeleton of its former self) he could scarcely afford to lose so much time.

Unfortunately some things just couldn’t be avoided. There was a man, a thief, who needed to be eradicated before he caused any more damage to the Order’s property and stole any more of their meagre funds.

It was a trifling mission, and decidedly below Haytham, but he had none of his remaining agents at hand and this needed to be dealt with swiftly.

So, with irritation simmering in his blood, Haytham himself went in search of this insignificant ruffian and soon found himself engaged in a lengthy rooftop chase that ended when he at last managed to pounce from a chimney stack and end the man’s life with a swift thrust of his hidden blade.

When he straightened again, he was annoyed but not particularly surprised to feel an sharp ache in his back, his body not quite as used to this much athletic exertion as it used to be.

Frustrated that his limits were not what he remembered, Haytham figured he should probably head home before he aggravated his muscles further.

Of course it was just his luck that a band of redcoats caught sight of him carefully climbing back down the side of a building and decided he looked suspicious enough to attack.

Haytham rolled his eyes as they began to shout excitedly, wearily drawing his sword. He had faith in his own abilities, but wasn’t completely certain he could defeat all six of the soldiers before one of them got a lucky stab in.

He could really do without any more injuries.

The men surrounded him, two of the ones wielding muskets inching forward, ready to dart in with their bayonets the second they saw an opening. They were clumsy and overconfident however, and Haytham disarmed and ran them through easily enough.

Seeing the blood spill across the muddy ground, the drummer whimpered in shock, turning on his heel and launching himself down the street.

Haytham would have let him go – the man was no threat to him by himself – but he couldn’t risk him alerting another patrol. With the other two musket-wielding Regulars closing in, he had scarcely enough time to withdraw his pistol and fire a shot squarely into the back of the drummer’s head.

Quickly holstering his smoking pistol again, he just managed to parry one of the soldier’s bayonets in time, twisting the weapon out of the man’s hands and engaging his hidden blade on his other hand to slash across his throat before whipping around to finish off the second.

Now only the officer was left, but he was Haytham’s real concern. This officer was young though, and while that meant he was probably faster and perhaps even stronger than Haytham, he didn’t have the same level of experience as the Templar Grand Master.

The officer darted forward with a shout, sword raised.

Stepping slightly to the side so the man couldn’t charge him head-on, Haytham parried him easily enough, though his own answering thrust was similarly countered and he earned himself a swift blow to the face with the man’s fist for his efforts.

Haytham exhaled in annoyance as his jaw began to throb, realising he had better end this quickly. His back still ached, and his arms were already twinging unpleasantly; a precursor to later soreness.

The soldier began his assault anew, this time with a swift vertical chop that had Haytham’s shoulders screaming in protest at the jarring impact as he stopped the blade with his own.

Locked together as they were, the officer was close enough that Haytham could kick him in the stomach, winding him and pushing him away. While the other man doubled over in unexpected pain, Haytham thrust forward with his sword and stabbed him straight through the throat before pulling it free again.

The officer gurgled, choking on his own blood as he crumpled to the ground. Haytham ignored him, vexed as he realised how much blood his clothes had been sprayed with from the dying man’s jugular.

He’d better take care not to be seen on the way home. He didn’t think he had the energy for another such a fight in too short a time.

Wiping his sword on one of the Regular’s coats, he sheathed it and strode back down one of the alleyways, taking a longer but less conspicuous route back to his estate.

He’d have to have his servants draw him a bath when he got home, he mused. Otherwise his muscles would probably be protesting for days.

Letting himself through the gate to his property, Haytham was most displeased to find Connor loitering by the front door. He was in no mood to indulge the Assassin’s antics today.

“Father,” Connor began, breaking off as he took in the Templar’s bloodstained clothing and tired posture. Haytham’s shoulders weren’t exactly slumped, but he didn’t have his usual upright stance or ramrod straight spine, and to Connor it was instantly noticeable. “Are you all right?”

“It’s not my blood if that’s what you’re asking,” Haytham replied stiffly. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Connor retorted, looking surly. “You don’t look well, father.”

Haytham scowled at him, brushing past Connor to knock on his front door so a servant could let him in. “Come back tomorrow,” he said coldly. “I’m not in the mood for unsolicited visitors.”

Despite his words, he didn’t shut Connor out when the Assassin made to follow him inside the house.

Deciding Connor could do as he pleased, and trusting he wouldn’t damage any of his property, Haytham ignored him for the time being as he asked his steward to have a bath drawn, and to have his clothes thoroughly washed and dried before the blood set in.

That done, he made his way upstairs to the master bedroom to wait for his bath, trying not to wince as each step jolted his back.

As he walked down the corridor to his bedroom, he heard footsteps and turned around to find Connor following him like a faithful hound.

“Are you lost?” Haytham asked grumpily.

Connor gave him a concerned look. “You are working yourself too hard, father,” he stated gruffly.

“Oh? And whose fault is that?” Haytham snapped acidly. “If you hadn’t swept all my useful pawns off the board, I wouldn’t have to do everything myself now, would I?”

“You need to take better care of yourself,” the Assassin continued doggedly, ignoring Haytham. “You should take the rest of the day off.”

“Aren’t you the one who once went three days without eating?” Haytham asked irritably, annoyed he was being lectured by his _son_ of all people, especially on self-preservation.

He could feel his own tiredness beginning to weigh on him however, loath as he was to admit it. The day’s mission had not been the first that week, and there was only so much that he could do before he inevitably collapsed of exhaustion.

Perhaps there was some merit to Connor’s words. He could finish off some paperwork but he needn’t go out again for the rest of the day.

Two servants came down the corridor, carrying steaming buckets of hot water for his bath.

Haytham followed them into his bedroom and waited as they made the necessary arrangements, fetching a towel and soap before leaving him to his own privacy.

Well other than Connor, who had decided to seat himself comfortably on Haytham’s bed.

Haytham was too tired to care particularly, as long as he didn’t get his filthy moccasins on his bedcovers. If Connor wanted to watch him take a bath, that was his business. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen him naked before, though it had been a while since either of them had had either the time or the temperament for any of their games.

Heedless of Connor, Haytham stripped off his clothes and stepped into the steaming tub, sighing quietly to himself and closing his eyes as the hot water enveloped his tired body, soothing his muscles and joints.

“If it was not your blood, then whose was it?” Connor’s quiet voice broke the silence.

“Soldiers’,” Haytham answered shortly, without opening his eyes.

“What was the mission you were on?” Connor asked. “Unless it’s too secret to tell me,” he added in a tone dry enough to rival Haytham’s own.

Haytham laughed bitterly, “I _wish_ it were important enough to keep secret,” he replied.

Connor was expectantly quiet, so Haytham sighed and elaborated. “A common thief,” he explained, “had been stealing funds from the Order. I stopped him.”

A lengthy silence followed this statement, until quiet chuckles came from the direction of the bed, prompting Haytham to open his eyes and turn to look at Connor. “What.”

“I apologise,” Connor said, voice still warm with mirth. “I should not laugh.”

Haytham settled back into the bath with a huff. “As I said before,” he said waspishly, “it’s your fault.”

The Order truly had fallen from grace, he mused as he soaped himself up, when one of its Grand Masters was forced to deal with petty crimes such as this.

He could see the black humour of it, but didn’t appreciate his son laughing at his expense.

“Why are you here, Connor?” he asked. “I mean really.”

Connor was silent before answering, perhaps choosing his words carefully. “I had not seen you for a while,” he said at last. “Perhaps I thought I was due for a visit.”

“Missing your dear papa?” Haytham asked sarcastically, intending it as a joke. He was surprised when Connor didn’t retort sharply in kind.

He turned to look at him again, finding the Assassin staring down at his own gloved hands.

“Do you remember the last time I was in this room?” Connor asked softly.

Of course he did. It had been one of the few times the two of them had actually had access to a bed, and Haytham had been too tired to kick Connor out of it when they were finished, leaving them to both collapse under the covers, exhausted.

That had been at least a year ago, if Haytham recalled correctly.

“What about it?” the Templar asked.

“I was wondering if such things could be... resumed,” Connor said slowly.

Haytham rolled his eyes, even as he felt the first stirrings of lust throughout his body. “I’m tired,” he said, not at all petulantly.

The bed creaking was the only hint of Connor’s movement as he crept up to the bath to crouch behind Haytham. “You would not have to do anything,” the younger man murmured, breath tickling the back of Haytham’s neck. “I was thinking about it; you do not always have to be the one in control.”

“Don’t I?” Haytham asked sardonically, but he couldn’t deny his interest was piqued. He didn’t often have the time for pleasures of the flesh, and Connor was right there, ready and willing.

“It would be good for you, father,” Connor said, leaning in boldly to press a light kiss to Haytham’s shoulder. “To _relax._ ”

Soothed by the calming effects of the hot water, and Connor’s quiet voice, Haytham was sure there was a reason he should protest but he couldn’t quite find it. Instead he turned his head, pleased when Connor’s lips met his in a gentle kiss.

“...Very well,” Haytham muttered. He found himself in a sleepy, almost trance-like state, but he trusted Connor would not do anything to harm him.

“Stay there a moment,” Connor ordered calmly, then stood again in order to efficiently strip off his clothing.

Once he was bare, he moved back to stand behind Haytham with the towel in his hands, ready to wrap him in it once the Templar stood up.

Haytham murmured thanks, taking the towel and drying his wet skin before setting it down on the floor next to the tub so he could step out onto it and dry his feet and calves.

“Go and lie on the bed, father,” Connor said, and it was clear it was an order, but it was said in such a calm and soothing tone that Haytham couldn’t take any issue with it.

He obeyed, stretching out on his back and letting himself relax into the soft bedding, barely paying attention as Connor poked around his room, presumably searching for oil.

He must have found it, because the bed soon dipped with his weight, Connor moving to hover over Haytham before carefully straddling him.

Haytham shifted slightly, and made a small noise of appreciation at the feeling of warm bare skin against his, but otherwise did not move, his eyelids heavy.

A warm mouth attached itself to his throat and began tonguing at his pulse, slow and indulgent. Scattering kisses and licks across his throat and down his collarbones, Connor made his way down to his nipples, biting down lightly on one.

Haytham didn’t always have the patience for foreplay, but he had to admit he was rather enjoying himself. There was no rush. Had he been more awake, his body probably would have been urging him to flip their positions and take his pleasure as fast and hard as he liked, but he found himself warming to this thorough and leisurely exploration as well.

Letting his thoughts scatter, Haytham relinquished himself to the gentle power of Connor’s hands and mouth.

It was certainly arousing, but Haytham’s cock took its time in hardening, and even then it didn’t really feel like an urgent need, just more of a subtle want.

Dimly Haytham became aware that Connor had moved back off him and had carefully spread his thighs, baring his entrance.

It didn’t occur to Haytham to feel vulnerable, he was so relaxed he could have been drugged, but even that thought didn’t particularly concern him.

A careful finger, slick with oil, began to press inside him.

Both men counted their deep breaths as Haytham felt his body stretch to accommodate the digit. The second and third were pressed in just as slowly, Connor waiting patiently before beginning to probe around for a little extra room.

Then the fingers were withdrawn, Haytham exhaling at the loss, his heart rate picking up slightly as he remembered what came next.

Connor was in no hurry though, moving back up to kiss Haytham, slow and soft, before slicking up his cock and moving into position.

The bath had loosened Haytham’s muscles considerably, so Connor could lift his legs for easier access without any unnecessary discomfort on Haytham’s end.

He eased in, his shaft breaching the tight ring of muscle and continuing deeper until Haytham felt satisfyingly full.

Connor waited, savouring the moment, before lazily withdrawing and pushing in again.

Haytham didn’t bother keeping track of the thrusts. Letting his eyes slide shut, he gave himself up to Connor’s care, enjoying the unhurried nature of it.

When Connor came, he rode the orgasm out, continuing to thrust until he was spent.

Sated, the Assassin pulled out and lay down next to his father, tucking himself against his body. Reaching down, he wrapped his fingers around Haytham’s cock and stroked him until the Grand Master came with a satisfied sigh.

“Go to sleep, father,” Connor murmured gently, a smile in his voice.

Haytham did.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where the subspace stuff came from. This isn't even meant to be a D/s fic.  
> Haytham's just tired as fuck okay


End file.
